Murrmurr, how your post resonated with me. My father raised four children single handed when his wife died from TB, when she was just 33. Life was tough in the 1950's, we all learned to clean our rooms, to take the soiled laundry to the launderette, we didn't have a washing machine, the launderette was my job. Two younger sisters aged eight and six, learned the process of ironing, as in what heat for what fabric. We all chipped in with house cleaning. We didn't want to be ashamed to invite friends home, so we all cleaned and dusted the place.
My father had to work as well as take care of us, what a stressful time it was for him. But we all came through it and although I wouldn't wish the experience onto anyone, it was the making of us.
Curiously I often wonder if the death of my mother made such an impact on me that it coloured my views on children. My sister too has no children, but then again, my wife and her sister are without children and they had their parents throughout their childhood. It makes no sense.
It's not as though children annoy me, we have eight wonderful Godchildren, we have seen them grow from babies to adults, we have been to their weddings, congratulated them on the arrival of their own children. None of that though has sparked the desire to start our own family. At times is does make me wonder if I'm a tad eccentric.
Much as I love my Godchildren, I don't miss children, nor do I miss grandchildren, it's not going to happen so there's no point worrying about it.